The Cartel (24 page)

She never missed a lesson, rarely complaining of aches and pains like the other girls. If she fell, she always got right back on and rode the fences.

With any luck, Bella would make the Olympic team and head to Barcelona in a few years—riding for the French. She had done all her training in France so it was appropriate that she ride for the French. She would be France’s “golden girl.” Not only was she a talented equestrienne, but she was also intelligent as well as beautiful.

Even though Jean Luc desired men instead of women, he knew a beautiful woman when he saw one. He also saw the way other men looked at Bella when they would go shopping together or go for a
café au lait
. She was still only a child at nearly seventeen, with eyes as green as emeralds. Her long hair made everyone in the street stare. Bella never seemed to pay much attention. Her thoughts were a constant mixture of horses, fences, strides, dressage tests, cross country courses, saddles to clean, and breeches to wash. She never allowed anyone to mess with her tack, much less her prized possession—her Delilah.

Her father had bought the mare for her five years earlier as a birthday present. Delilah was four years old at the time, and was sold because her owners had gone bankrupt in a bad business deal. Javier was fortunate to grab her for Bella. The horse had come from wonderful bloodlines, and although her jumping lacked the experience that Jean Luc would have liked her to have for his star student due to the fact the horse was still a baby at the time, he had seen the horse’s possible abilities and felt that with the proper training the horse and girl could go far together. And he could also see that a quick and certain bond had formed between the two “girls.” It didn’t take much to convince Bella’s father to make the purchase.

Jean Luc walked beside Bella, who led the mare to the barn to be put up in the cross-ties. She stripped off the saddle, bridle, and protective boots from Delilah’s legs. Since the breeze was quite cool, Bella decided against a bath and reached for a large sponge in her tack box, and sponged her horse down.

Jean Luc went into the small room off the barn and poured them each a cup of coffee. He set Bella’s down, until she came in to wipe off her saddle and bridle she carried in.

After blanketing Delilah and giving her a handful of carrots, she led her horse to her stall. Bella then dragged the heels of her boots along the ground on her way back to the office, where she carried in her tack and sat down across from Jean Luc. He handed her the coffee, which she quickly drank. The warm liquid satisfied her aching joints. Although complaints weren’t a part of her makeup, the aches she chose to ignore were still there.

After drinking half the coffee, she picked up a sponge and a container of leather cleaner from the cleaning box and began rubbing down the saddle.

“Quite some ride today,” Jean Luc remarked.

“Thanks. She’s an amazing animal, isn’t she?”

“You can say that again. You know that I believe that your dreams of becoming an Olympic champion aren’t so farfetched.”

“You really think so, Jean Luc? Do you really believe I have a chance?”

He set his cup down on the desk next to him and crossed his arms over his chest. With his legs out in front of him, Jean Luc leaned back in the worn leather chair. “Now let me think about that question for a minute,” he teased as he tried to assume a serious expression.

Bella threw the sponge at him and they both laughed. His crystalline blue eyes were full of amusement at her playful gesture. He pushed away a strand of his straw colored hair, which continually fell into his eyes, and threw the sponge back at her.

“Seriously now,” he said. “I don’t only think you’ve got a chance, I
know
you do. You and that mare of yours are destined to be winners. It’s all up here, Bella.” He tapped his finger to the side of his head. “And in here.” He tapped his chest. “It is will and belief that will make you achieve your dreams. I believe you can do it, but it isn’t up to me. It’s up to you. What do you think?”

There was a slight pause before she answered. “I think you’re right.”

“Good. Then half the battle has been won. Now I’m late for an appointment,” he murmured, glancing at his watch and thinking about Pierre, who would become impatient if he were kept waiting. “And I’m certain you have a great deal of homework to do.”

“Some. I’m also meeting old friends from home for dinner—my Godfather actually, and his daughters.”

“Great. Well, have a good time. I’ll see you tomorrow, same time, same place.”

“I’ll be here.”

As Bella finished her daily ritual, her mind tiptoed back home to her father. She tried not to think about home very much, but with Antonio and the girls visiting that evening it was hard not to.

She missed him dearly, but she would never let on. He’d made his choice nine years ago, when he chose Carlotta over her. She had hated being sent away, even though now, when she reflected on it, she knew it had been the best thing for her. However, she would never give either her father or her conniving step mother the satisfaction of knowing that this was how she truly felt.

She realized she would’ve never had the experiences or the opportunities she had in France if she’d remained at home in Mexico. The only thing she regretted was she sincerely missed Miguel and Pedro, both of whom she wrote to on a regular basis. Miguel’s visits had slowed because his schooling was increasingly difficult as was hers, and any spare time she had she spent it with her horse.

Her dad had done everything he could to appease her, as when he bought her the horse. But the pain and jealousy of being replaced by her step mother angered Isabella every time she thought about it.

Maybe one day she would find it in her heart to forgive her father for this betrayal, but she didn’t see it happening anytime soon. She knew Antonio would lecture her about it once again tonight, but she was a strong-willed young woman. On this topic, her mind was made up.

Miguel closed his bible and glanced out the small
window of his airplane seat. All he could see was dense fog. The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, and Miguel fingered the cross around his neck. Flying wasn’t one of his favorite experiences.

He was glad to be going home, though. Finished with school, he was now ready to go to work for the church and for God. The thought thrilled him.

He would be going to work for St. Peter’s and in time he knew that he would be bringing God’s message to the masses. His only regret was that he would now be so far from his dear sister. He thought about her often. Even though they still communicated through letters, and occasionally by telephone, it never seemed enough. Although there were no bloodlines between them, she was his sister in every sense of the word. In Miguel’s mind, after God and the church, Bella was next in line.

He still remembered the stricken look on her face when his mother and her father had told them they would be going away to school. Bella had stared in disbelief and total shock at her father. Javier had broken Isabella’s heart. Miguel had made many attempts to persuade her to forgive her father and make peace within her family. Although forgiveness was at the top of his code of ethics, he could not in any way judge his sister for her anger.

As his flight descended into Guadalajara, he prayed for a safe landing and for guidance in the work he was about to do there. He would have a few days at home with his family before traveling a few hundred miles south to St. Peter’s Church, a small church and rectory. He realized how important his work would be, and how much he could affect the people.

Hector and Alejandro strutted through the drug-infested area off Pico and Hoover. The respect they were gaining with the younger boys in the ‘hood was apparent. Talk of the money these two were making had become a hot topic for the young gang members. No longer little boys, they were big men on the block. They were supplying the blacks in Watts, the Asians in Little Korea, and anyone else interested in their product. The only people they didn't supply were their own.

When they began this venture, Alex made Hector promise they would never corrupt their own people. However, that was only part of their reasoning. Bigger, smarter thugs than themselves already owned the Pico, Hoover and surrounding areas. They realized that in their line of work, it wouldn’t be too cool to cut in on anyone else’s territory.

The stench of raw meat and urine hung in the air on Olympic Avenue. Alex couldn't wait until they had enough money to get out of the hellhole they’d called home for so many years. They’d only moved once during that time and he never understood why or questioned it.

It was right after his mother had returned from her only trip to Mexico to visit friends. She’d been so happy about going. But the day she came back, something of the sparkle in her eyes was gone and he never saw it return. They moved that day, to another small house only a few miles away.

Usually, his precocious, curious nature would have manifested itself into a lot of questions. But his instinct had told him not to push her—that something painful must have occurred for her to make such a radical change. She told him she was out of money, and that the rent on the other house was less. He didn’t argue, but he also had the feeling that she was lying. His poor mother worked her fingers to the bone to keep them going, and Alejandro was determined to give her a better life.

"Hey, man you know what I hear?" Hector said as they stopped to buy a pack of cigarettes.

"No, what did you hear?" Alex asked. His hair was slicked back and he was wearing a new pair of Levis he bought with the money they'd been earning. He'd been squirreling away most of the money underneath his mattress and told his mother he was working at a McDonald’s in Brentwood, and she had believed him. He’d kept it from her all summer and now well into the school year. He’d been able to convince her that he worked after school, which in a sense he did. He was also now making top grades and working toward his plan of going on to college.

"I hear they got great parties down at USC. You know chicks with big tatahs." Hector motioned with his hands cupped in front of his chest.

Alex pushed him. "Right, like a bunch of fraternity boys are going to let a couple of spics like us into their party. You're crazy."

"Nah, we'll dress up real sweet and all."

"Where we gonna get the threads?"

"We got some money now. Let's spend some of it."

"Uh-uh. Won't work." Alex shook his head, surprised by his friend's brazen attitude.

"I know one sure way we'd get in."

"What's that?"

Hector held up a small vial of cocaine.

"Put that away, you idiot." Alex slapped his hand down. "You want to get busted or what?"

"Oh, come on. There's no cops around here. Even if there was, they wouldn't bother us."

Alex knew he was right, but he didn't like him flashing the stuff in front of children and mothers. And he didn't want his mother to hear about it, either. "You really think that stuff'll get us into a frat party?"

“Are you kidding? The gringos love it. My bro turned us onto the good stuff, man. Those frat boys will welcome us with open arms into their fiestas. We'll get more
chicas
than we ever imagined."

Alex blushed at the thought of women. Hector always talked about women and having sex with them. It embarrassed Alex, because he'd never done anything other than kiss a girl. Oh, he talked the talk, but so far, he hadn’t walked the walk. He knew how uncool it would be if anyone knew the truth. Women scared him half to death.

"Who knows, bro, this may be your big night," Hector said, slapping him on the back.

"Up yours.”

“I’m jokin’, man. So come on. You in?”

"Okay, but if we get our asses kicked I know who to blame."

"No problem."

*****

Alex put on a white silk shirt with his new jeans. His mother hadn't come home yet, so he was able to get out of the house without her wondering where the new clothes had come from. He wrote her a note, saying he'd gone to the library to study. That would please her.

He looked much older than his eighteen years with his hair slicked back and his golden skin. He looked at himself in the mirror and liked what he saw. Alex especially liked his eyes. “Amber,” his mother called them, “like your father’s.” All Alex knew about him was that he was some great man, and that he died saving some people from a building during a big earthquake. He never understood why his mother didn't date or try to find someone else, but he always respected that. In a way, he was glad, because he always had her full attention.

"Hey, you ready, man? Come on."

Alex could see Hector through the reflection in the mirror standing behind him. He wanted to laugh but he knew it would hurt his friend’s feelings. Hector wore a light blue silk shirt with wide lapels, and a navy polyester jacket and a pair of dark jeans. The gold chain around his neck made him look like a pimp from ten years earlier. "Hey, you look good.”

"Yeah, I know, man. Chicks love this stuff. I'm looking hot. Gonna get me some good looking white girls tonight.”